Insane
by Devil917
Summary: Sam's in pain; heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, excruciating pain. And there's nothing Dean can do to stop it. Only Sam can save himself.
1. Chapter 1

_I know what you're thinking. You probably think I'm crazy, right. I literally **just **started another story and now I have this. But believe me, I have an excuse: I was reading some chapters in my other story 'Agony', some of you may or may not have heard of it, when I came across a chapter in it titled 'Carry On' and I read it over and fell **in love** with it all over again. Sure, there was a few tweaks I had to make, and I did, so the wording's lightly different. Yes, this is the chapter 'Carry On' from 'Agony', but I will be adding to it. You know, like a real story (: Lol. Soooo, I will update this when I can, as often as I can. And this is **without** a Beta, so all of the mistakes are mine if you find any. Anyway, if you haven't read the chapter before: here it is. If you have read the chapter : please tell me if it's a good idea to continue it. _

_I'll stop talking now. Please enjoy. [:_

_

* * *

Chapter 1;_

One bed in the center of the room. No way out. One door looked from the outside. He was stuck. He was trapped. In a way, he was scared. His body ached, but his mind ached more. He was tired. Mentally tired, that is. He just wanted this all to be over. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the sides of his face. His hands were shaky, his legs were tapping, he couldn't keep still. Not even if he tried.

Sam rocked back and forth . He grabbed the ends of his hair and screamed. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He had to scream; he had to yell. He had to do something to keep from going even more crazy than he already felt. A cold sweat came over him. Causing a hot-flash and the chills at he same time. His body shot backwards, laying him down on the uncomfortable bed. He stiffened as a wave of pain and went came over him.

"Ahh!" Sam yelled at the top of his lungs. His body was hot but his heart was cold. He couldn't shake the feeling that Bobby and Dean no longer thought of him as the same person. He feared that they thought of him as some monster that they can only tame by putting in isolation. Neither of them have been down tere since early this morning and even then, it was just Bobby. He had lifted the peep slip to the door and took a quick look at Sam. At the time, Sam wasn't facing the door but he knew someone was watching him. He felt it. And he could tell it wasn't Dean. Dean would've spoken, Dean would've came in. Dean would've done something, _anything_.

Without realizing, Sam sat up again. His stomach was queasy; he felt sick. Sam's breathing was uneven, rugged, and pained. He couldn't catch it. His lungs were tight, like someone was squeezing them. His stomach hurt, like he was being kicked. Physically and emotionally drained, Sam stood. Sluggish and heavy feet carried him to the wall. Banging his fists, he yelled again. He wasn't sure why he was yelling, it didn't make him feel better. But in a way it calmed him.

He was hungry, but he couldn't even make himself think of food. Just the thought of it sickened him, but he'd kill for it right about now. His stomach growled every once in a while, but his mind screamed that nothing would satisfy him quite the way demon blood would. He should be able to live without it, Sam knew that. He didn't need it, Sam knew that, too. But he wanted it, and he wanted it badly.

There was only one thing Sam hated the most, and that's being alone. Being by himself could kill him faster than any bullet, spirit, or demon could. And Dean knew that. And that's exactly what angered Sam the most. If Dean knew Sam hated being by himself, why would he put him here? What type of brother would intentionally hurt their younger brother? Shouldn't Dean be protecting him, not the one making him suffer?

Turning around and pressing his back to the wall, he slid to the floor. His feet tapped over and over again in a steady, rapid beat. His legs was shaking. To steady them, he wrapped his hands around them and pulled them to his chest. He put his head on his forearm and rocked back and forth. The sweat from his forehead rubbed off onto his lower arm and dripped onto his unbuttoned shirt. Sam cried out. Why did he feel this way?

He heard the sound of footsteps, but not the sound of a door opening. Cautiously, Sam brought his head from his arm and looked up. To his surprise, Dean was standing over him. Hatred etched in his face and disappointment clearly seen. Dean rolled his eyes and walked back a few steps.

"You're pathetic, Sam."

He could feel his mouth drop open in shock.

"Dean-"

"Shut up."

His mouth closed, impulsively listening to his older brother. Sam could feel his heart pick up speed. He was worried, he was nervous. Something he never felt around Dean before. And worst of all, making this whole experience more horrible than it already was, Sam felt like he couldn't trust Dean anymore. And that's what made Sam want to rip his heart out and just give up. He's feeling something he'd never feel with Dean. Distrust.

Pacing in front of Sam, Dean crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. His boots scuffed against the floor. In this light, his leather jacket looked a deep charcoal black. Half his face hidden by the slight darkness, giving him sort of a 5'oclock shadow. Miraculously, his eyes had turned a grayish color, making him seem even more evil.

He pointed to Sam. "Look at yourself," Dean hisses, having a staring contest with Sam as he paced in front of him, his arms still crossed. "You're so weak, Sam."

Sam had obtained his stare, doing all he could to keep a straight face. He didn't know what Dean as acting this way.

"Dean-"

"Did I tell you to speak?"

Sam was silenced.

Dean shook his head as he crouched down in front of Sam. His eyes piercing into Sam's as he stared him down. A small, but raging fire in his eyes. Sam could literally see the flames. Suddenly, the flame was on Dean's hand. He smiled at Sam as he brought it closer to his face. Sam brought his face back, pressing it as far as it would go to the back of the wall. He turned his face to the side, trying to move his face away from the flame.

"What's a'matter, Sammy? Scared of a little flame?" Dean taunted, bringing it closer to his face. Sam could feel the heat radiating off the fire, causing him to sweat.

Dean knew Sam had a fear a fire. And after their mom's and Jessica's death, it was understandable.

Sam grabbed Dean's wrist, trying to keep his hand away.

"Dean, stop," Sam says in a weak voice.

Dean dropped his hand and magically the flame disappeared. He laughed a little. Dean grabbed Sam by his shirt collar and hoists him to his feet. Dean pushes Sam to the wall, knocking his head. Protectively, Sam pushed Dean back, but just as his hands were about to make contact with Dean's shoulders, he disappeared.

Sam's eyes go big, amazed and scared at the same time.

Tears swelling in his eyes, Sam slid back onto the floor. He wiped them away angrily, upset at his own, sick hallucinations.

Having enough, Sam pushed his aching body to his feet. He stumbles to his feet and when he feels his bed at his knees, he tips his body over and falls into the bed. All he had to hope for was that sweet, sweet unconsciousness would take over soon.

**.-Sane-.**

"Sam."

The voice pierced through Sam's blank dream. He tried his best to ignore it; he tried to stay peaceful. Sleeping was the only thing that was keeping him calm enough to stay still. He knew he'd been sleep for a while, but he wasn't sure how long. But he didn't care. It was calming, it was peaceful, and it didn't feel half as bad as being awake.

"Sam, calm down."

_Calm down? I am calm._

Sam was confused, but didn't want to see what all the fuss was about. As far as Sam was concerned, he was more comfortable and in a reasonable state of mind than he'd been in a while and he wasn't passing that up for just anything. He'd need to hear a good reason to go back to consciousness and deal with the fever, the chills, the shakiness, and the nausea again.

He felt a hand rest just above his eyebrow and stay there for a second. Then the voice was back. It said, "You know I'm not gonna hurt you. Stop moving. Sam, stop."

Not being able to take being clueless anymore, Sam forced his eyes open. His eyesight was blurry for a while. It was just a big blur of dark colors, swirled together. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and reopened then slowly. His vision was clear now and he seen Dean standing over him. His eye full of worry and compassion now, instead of the pure hatred and fire the other Dean had.

Not taking any chances, Sam reached his hand up, touching the side of his face.

"You're real?"

Dean nodded, his facial expression staying the same. "I'm real, Sammy."

Sam tried to sit up, but found it impossible because Dean's hands were placed firmly on his shoulders, binding him to the bed. Sam looked down at Deans hands then up at him, confusion written clearly all over his face.

"You were flipping out," Dean explained. "We heard you all the way upstairs screaming your brains out."

Sam shook his head. "No, I was sleeping. I-"

Dean shrugged. "Some people sleepwalk, you happen to sleep-scream."

Hoping to lighten the mood, Dean flashed his famous smile at him.

Sam shook his head, not able to tell between dream and reality anymore. He pushed at Dean's hands frantically. "Get off me! Get off," he yelled, rolling backwards and onto the floor.

Dean stood, surprised by his sudden outburst. Not giving up though, he walked around the bed in the center of the room and sat down on the floor next to him. Cautiously and slowly, Dean put his hand on Sam's back.

"Sam, calm down. It's alright."

Sam shrugged his hand off.

"No," he says. "Nothing's alright. I'm not alright."

"But you're gonna be," Dean says, his voice full of hope for Sam getting better.

Sam moves away, pressing his back to the bed.

"You don't want me to get better," he says, rocking back and forth, his hands tapping at his sides. "You want to get rid of me, don't you? I understand. I'm a monster. I'm evil. I'm a killer."

Dean dropped his head into the bow of his collar bone. He shook his head.

"You're not a killer, Sam. You're not evil either."

"Yeah!" Sam says, standing. He tugs at the back of his hair and lets out a shaky deep breath. "Then what am I then, Dean? Crazy? I'm definitely that."

Dean shook his head. "You're not crazy, Sammy…"

"No bet on that," Sam shoots back. "I feel crazy. And look at me," Sam points to himself. "I even look crazy! I- I can't stay still. Look, I'm sweating but I'm freezing cold. I'm tired but I can't sleep. I'm hungry but I can't eat. All I think about, all I _want _is demon blood. If that's not crazy, then I don't know what is!"

Standing, too, Dean takes hold of Sam's wrist and sits him on the bed.

"It's called withdraw, Sam. You know that."

Sam slams his hand down on the bed, startling Dean and causing him to jump back a little.

"Sam-"

"Why are you doing this to me, Dean?"

Dean sighs, "It's gonna help you, Sam."

"But why are you making me suffer like this? What've I done to you? All my life, all I've done is look up to you. Studying you. Trying to be just like you. And this is how you repay me for idolizing you? You- you _trap _me down here? What am I to you, huh? Some animal?"

Dean's hurt by Sam's words, but he has to convince and reassure himself that it's not Sam talking. It the withdraw. He's saying anything to get under Dean's skin, anything to have Dean let him out.

"You're not an animal, Sammy. And I don't think of you as one. All's I'm trying to do is help you. And this is the only way I know how," Dean wipes his eye. "I just want you to get better, Sammy."

Sam eyes soften. He puts his head in his hands and sighs. "I can't take this anymore, Dean. I can't take this feeling anymore. It's killing me."

"No, Sam," Dean interrupts. "The demon blood is killing you. That's what you need to understand."

"No you need to understand!" Sam shouts, his eyes bloodshot from the tiredness and from crying. "I'm your brother, Dean. Your little brother. Why are you torturing me?"

Dean looks away, trying not to give in to Sam's words. "Sammy, I'm not-"

"Yes you are. You don't know what it's like to feel this way. You don't know how much it hurts. Not matter what I do. It always hurts. And I can't make it stop," Sam says to Dean, his puppy dog eyes looking up at him, pleading Dean to take him out of here. "What is it? You don't love me anymore or something? You don't want me as your brother anymore?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam-"

"You think I'm gonna turn into one of those things, don't you? One of those things you have to kill?" Sam stand up straight and looks Dean straight in the eye. "Then just kill me already, Dean. 'Cause I can't take the pain anymore."

At that moment, Dean could feel his heart beginning to break. He shook his head, trying to keep Sam's words from entering his mind. Dean stands.

"I'm not gonna kill you, Sam. I'm not gonna hurt you at all. I want you- I _need_ you to understand that. I'm only doing this because you are my brother and I do love you. Me and Bobby want you to be better, Sammy. We want to get you out of here, believe me, we do. But we can't until you're clean of this stuff. That's the only way we can make sure you'll get better."

Sam walks forward into Dean, tears running down his face. Dean pulls him into a hug.

"I can't take it anymore, Dean. I just can't."

Dean nods. "Yes you can," he says encouragingly. "Just a couple more days, okay? Then everything will get better, I promise."

Sam cries onto his shoulder. He shakes his head. "I can't do it, Dean. I can't."

By now, Dean's blinking away tears.

"You're stronger than me. You know that, Sam? You might be younger than me, but mentally? You are stronger than me. You've been through so much. Too much. And considering all that, you've handled it well. Better than I would've.

You can beat this, Sam. I know you can. You just have to try."

Sam pulled away. "I've tried, Dean. I swear I have."

"I know," Dean says nodding. "Just for a little longer, okay. You only have to wait this out a little longer. Please, Sam. Keep fighting, okay. For me, please keep fighting."

Sam nods, walking back over to the bed. He lays his head down and stars up at the ceiling. Small tears still run down the side of his face but Dean could see he was trying no to cry anymore.

Dean reaches down and pats his shoulder. "That's my boy. Hang in there, Sammy."

Walking slowly, Dean heads for the door. He walks out but just before he closes it, he looks over at Sam again.

"I'll be back in a couple hours or so. Try to get some rest."

He sees Sam nod.

"Try to eat something, too. You're skinny enough."

And with that, Dean closes the door with a loud slam. Dean was worried, but he knew Sam would be alright. This was just something he'd have to overcome. He smiled slightly, feeling proud of his brother.

Inside, Sam could feel the urges and restlessness of withdraw taking over his body again. But he kept them at bay as much as he could. He had to be strong and he knew that. He had to be strong not just for himself, but for his brother, too.

And that, and that alone, is what gave Sam the strength to carry on.

* * *

_Soooo, not too bad, right? *cowers in corner*. Should I continue? Let me know..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2;_

A prisoner. Sam was a prisoner inside his own body and there was no way out. No way to escape. He was confined inside himself; and right now, that's the last place he'd rather me. It was horrible inside there. Everything was mixed up inside of him. Nothing was working properly. Especially not his mind. He was sure he was losing it. He was sure that eventually, sooner than later, he'd go completely crazy. He didn't want it to happen. But it seemed unavoidable. Inevitable, even.

Lying on his back in the center of the bed, Sam tried to relax. He tried to slow his heart rate down, too. But he couldn't. It was going a mile a minute, like it was running a marathon. It only made him feel more anxious. In his ears, he could hear it pumping blood faster and faster through his veins, reminding him how empty he felt without demon blood rushing through him, too. Biting his bottom lip, Sam gripped the sheets. His body tightened. He held his breath. A wave of pain, actual pain, jolted though him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell. But he couldn't. It was like his voice was gone. He bit harder. So hard, it drew blood, causing it to make a thin trail down the side of his chin and onto his neck.

The pain lessened gradually.

Sam loosened his grip on the sheets and pried his teeth from his whitened lip. He took in a heavy, deep breath and let it out shakily. His heart was still racing. It had been for the last twenty-four hours or so. He hated it. It made him feel on edge all the time. It made him feel more restless than he already was and reminded him just how out of control his body actually was. No deep breaths were going to slow this heart down. It had a mind of it's own. A mind that craved and yearned for demon blood again.

It took him a while, but Sam finally got a grip on his hallucinations. He figured out how to keep them at bay: he couldn't sleep. Whenever Sam felt at ease, he was usually asleep. And when he's asleep, that's when he's the most crazy. Some of the things he thinks of sickens him to the point where he literally want to throw up. It's horrible. He remembered once, he saw Dean dying over and over and over and over again for hours! No matter what he did, Sam seen Dean die. And Sam knew how to stop it, too. He just had to wake up. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. His mind had him trapped under a spell so tight that he couldn't control himself.

His sat up, looking around. The room was dim. Dark. Eerie.

Sam hated the thought of being kept in here. He wasn't a kid anymore. He hated being told what to do. And Dean knew that, too.

His mind wondered...

Dean.

Dean was here. Just a little over three hours ago. He mad Sam feel better. He remembered Dean saying that it'll all be over soon. Dean had said that pretty soon everything would get easier and then he'd be able to come out of this hell hole and be normal again.

_Normal._

Sam laughed. Normal doesn't exist and he knew it. But it was something he strived to be all of his life. Since he was a kid, all he wanted to be was just like everyone else. He wanted to live in one house; not move all around america like some Pop group on a country-wide tour. He wanted to live in that house with his dad, Dean, and his _mother_. Sam didn't want to be the one who was always left out or the one who felt awkward around the people he should be most comfortable with. Sam wanted to feel whole again. He wanted to hear that everything was going to be alright, and actually believe it.

He wanted Jess.

Feeling his heart skip a beat, Sam tried to think about something else. Of course, it didn't work.

Without warning, Sam's body jerked backwards. His head crashed into the metal lining of the bed, immediately giving him a huge headache. His skin started to craw, his toes and fingers curled, and his throat tightened. Sam's heart picked up even more speed than before and stayed at a rate that Sam was positive that it wasn't healthy. Everything started spinning quickly. Pain. Horrible pain. Unbearable pain shot up ant down his body, making his stomach uneasy. It began to turn. Sam felt nervous, like he did on his very first day of school. He felt anxious, like he did on his first date. He felt heartache, like he felt when Jess died. Sam felt worthless.

All of that pain bottled inside of him finally exploded. Sam opened his mouth and screamed at the top of his lungs, hoping that someway, somehow, it'll catch Dean's attention and he'd come to save him for this nightmare, before he decided to take himself out of it.

**.-Sane-.**

"You hear him, don't'cha?"

Dean nods almost unnoticeably. He's been trying to ignore it, actually. For the last thirty minutes, Dean had hear nothing but Sam screaming, yelling, calling. And he knew Sam was calling for him. He hated it. His heart was telling him to go down there and help him, save him. But his gut was telling him to leave Sam down there, to let him get clean of this stuff before he lets him out. Dean often wondered when he'd finally give in to his heart.

Bobby was on the other side of the room, on the computer. Dean could see that this was hard on him too, but he was actually hiding it pretty well. Almost like he'd been through something like this before. Dean thanked God that he had Bobby to help him though this, but it also made him angry with himself for even thinking of that. While Dean had Bobby for comfort and to keep him hopeful, who did Sam have?

No one.

Sam was alone.

He felt alone.

No matter how many times Dean told him that everything was going to be alright, it was still Sam's choice to believe it. Every time Dean told Sam to hang in there and to stay strong, the finally decision was still up to Sam. And no matter how many times Dean told Sam that he could beat this, it was ultimately up to Sam. He had to have enough willpower and faith to get him through this. In the end, the only person who could save Sam was Sam. He needed to see himself through this. Dean had nothing to do with it. If there was a way Dean could clap his hands and everything that was wrong with Sam would magically get better, believe that he could. But he couldn't . Everything rested on Sam's shoulders. Dean hated that, too.

Bobby cleared his throat.

"You listening to me?"

Dean snapped out of this thought and slowly eased his eyes onto Bobby who stared at him intently.

"Huh?"

Bobby rolled his eyes slightly. "I _said_ I found some things about withdraw. Symptoms and stuff. You know, so we know what to look out for and expect..."

Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Dean," he called.

Dean's eyes focused on him, slight confusion in his eyes. "I'm listening," he replied dryly, rubbing his finger over his forehead, causing his ring to spin around his finger.

"You ready?" Bobby asks, like they're about to go on some life or death mission.

Dean had to crack a smile, waiting for Bobby start explaining.

He seen Bobby's finger click the mouse. "Alright. Anxiety, restlessness, irritability, insomnia, headaches, poor concentration, depression, social isolation, hallucination, difference in personality, mood swings, disturbed sleep, low enthusiasm-"

Dean sighs heavily. "Are you describing Sam or me?"

Bobby shot him a look. "Ha ha," he says back dryly. "The point is, this is serious. Like, _serious_. There's physical things that we have to look out for. Withdraw could literally make him sick."

Sitting back in his chair, Dean rubbed his eyes. "Delightful," he responds sarcastically.

Bobby continued.

"Sweating, racing heart, muscle tension, muscle spasms, tightness in chest, increased heart rate, difficulty breathing, tremor, nausea, vomiting, fever-"

Dean stood up abruptly. "Bobby, stop!"

The older man froze.

"I don't need to hear this, okay. I don't _want _to hear this. I don't!"

Still, Bobby didn't move.

"How guilty are you trying to make me feel?"

Dean walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Bobby followed close behind. He put his hand on Dean's back, making him jump.

"Are you alright?" Bobby asks.

Dean grunted. "Do I _look_ alright?"

He felt a smack to the back of his head.

"Do you dare talk to me like that," Bobby states sternly. He stares straight into Dean's eyes. He watched Dean's head drop. He sighed and apologized.

Bobby let him to the table. "You gonna tell me what's going on with you?"

Dean was silent for a minute. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"_Dean_," Bobby pressed, knowing that Dean was going through a rough time.

He sighed, giving in.

"It's just-" Dean stopped suddenly. "I miss him, Bobby."

The older man nodded understandingly. "I know."

"I just want him back, you know?" Dean asks, running his hand through hair. "I just want my brother back."

Bobby touched his arm, still nodding. "I know you do. And you will. He'll get better."

Dean shrugged.

"You can't have that type of attitude, Dean."

"I keep telling him that everything's going to be okay if he keeps fighting. I keep telling him that everything will be alright if he just stays strong... but I'm not sure if I believe it." Dean confessed, resting his head on his hand.

Bobby opens his mouth to talk, but Dean continues before he had a chance.

"I mean, sure he'll get better. I know he will. But I'm not sure it he's still the same person."

"Dean-"

Dean put his hand up, silencing him.

"It hurts to say, but my brother's not my brother anymore; and I don't know if he ever will be again..."

* * *

_So, I thought about it. And came to the conclusion that chapter one didn't really count for me since a majority of people probably read it before, so I wrote this today to give people a bigger picture of that this is going to be about. Sooooo please let me know what you think [:_

_TBC?_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3;_

If Dean had a drop of water for every minute he spent of worrying about his brother, he'd never go thirsty. Honestly, he'd probably drown. Dean's a lot of things, but a worrier is probably at the top of the list. Even of Sam's perfectly healthy, safe with him in the care, purely happy, Dean still worries. Not that he thinks that Sam can't take care of himself. He knows he can. It's not that Dean thinks that Sam can't protect himself. Dean knows for sure that Sam could take on almost anyone. And it's not that Dean doesn't think that Sam's not independent enough. Dean knows all too well how independent Sam is. But the fact is, no matter how old Sam gets, no matter how far away he is, Dean is still his older brother. Nothing's going to change that. So nothing in the world is going to stop Dean's worrying.

His mind was racing. Not of the present, but of what things used to be. Dean thought about his childhood and how everything could've been different. He didn't regret his childhood anymore. No- it's been too many years, he'd come to far. But time and time again he did wish that he'd at least had gotten the chance to see what it was like to be a normal kid. Not to envy them, or to be jealous of what they had- but to try to get a real definition of normal. From Dean's eyes, nothing was normal and nothing will ever be.

If Dean had a dollar for every time he wished Sam would get better, he'd be rich. Sometime Dean found himself just pacing back and forth in a room. Most of the time he didn't even realize he was doing it until he'd hear Bobby call his name and then he'd snap out of it. Dean didn't feel like anything was real. He felt like this was a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare. And the only thing he had to hope for was that he'd wake up soon. . .

**.- Insane-.**

Bobby wasn't sure how long he could hold it together. All of this was eating him from the inside, out. Bobby was pretty strong, too. But all of this was too much to handle. It was times like these when he gets a big, bright, clear picture of how much these boys mean to him. It feels like it's his own son trapped down there, and it's taking all the will power he has inside of him to keep from letting him out.

He can see Dean's close to the edge. He's jumpy and he's quiet. Not like Dean a all. But honestly, Bobby doesn't know what to do. He keeps telling Dean that Sam will get better and that things will go back to the way things were before all of this stuff happened, but he's not sure if he actually believes it himself. Sam's in a bad place right now, and he's not sure how much more he can take. Either he's really loud: banging on the walls, pounding his fists, yelling at the top of his lungs, and calling for either him or Dean ; or he's really quiet. Dean quiet. You won't hear a sound from him. Either way, it worries Bobby.

As the years went on, Bobby only began to care for both Dean and Sam more and more and seeing either of them hurt, whether it was physically or emotionally, he always took it ten times harder than he let anyone see.

Just about an hour ago, he went down to bring Sam come food and a bottle of water. Dean had insisted on doing it, but Bobby wanted to go. He wanted to see for himself, up close, how Sam was doing. The walk down was a rough one, he basically prepared himself for the worst. That's all he could do, right?

Bobby opened the heavy door and every creek and screech it made seemed to amplify and bounce off the walls.

"Sam?"

He was sitting in the middle of the bed. His legs were pulled up to his chest and his hand wrapped around them. He let his head rest on his arms. Bobby moved closer, slowly.

Sam was rocking slightly back and forth; his hands were scratching at the top of his head. Bobby squinted his eyes.

"Sam? I've brought you food..."

Nothing. Sam doesn't answer. He acts like he doesn't even hear Bobby. Maybe he doesn't? Bobby isn't sure.

As he got even closer, Bobby could hear Sam's breathing. It was quick and thin, like he was out of breath. That worried Bobby, but he didn't let it show. He kept his poker face on. Reaching out a little, he placed the sandwich on the table next to the bed. When he looked over, he frowned. There was three uneaten sandwiches on the table, too from earlier. Sam hadn't even touched it. Next to the food were three bottles of water. One was finished, the other half full, and the last one completely full. At least Sam was still drinking. That's good at least, Bobby reasoned.

After he set the food and bottle on the table he walked over to Sam.

He was still in the same position. He hadn't even acknowledged Bobby's presence.

Bobby sat at the foot of the bed, looking over at Sam. His heart wrenched for him. It hurt to see him like this, but it was the only way he and Dean could be sure Sam was clean of the Demon blood.

Bobby reached out and touched his shoulder. Immediately, he felt Sam's body tense up.

"Sam," he called.

He shook his shoulder.

"Look at me."

Slowly, Sam's head lifted from his arm and over at Bobby. His eyes were hallow, no emotion. His face was vivid, full of pain. Bobby had to look away for a second.

Sam didn't say anything, he just looked at Bobby and he could tell that he was a little disappointed that it wasn't Dean sitting next to him, but Bobby needed this. He needed to see first-hand. He needed to talk to Sam.

"I just wanted to let you know that me and your brother believe in you. We know you can get through this. We know it..."

Sam's facial expression didn't chance.

Bobby continued.

"You know, ever since you were little, I knew that there was something about you. Something that made you special- a little better than the rest-" Bobby stopped, trying to search for any comprehension in Sam's eyes, but he found none. Either way, he went on.

"You've got something that I don't got. You've got family. Sure, I've got you and your brother, but I mean real family. _Blood _related-"

He seen Sam's eyes flinch at the word. Mentally, Bobby kicked himself. Blood? He couldn't think of a better word than blood?

Trying not to dwell on his mistake, Bobby kept talking.

"You've got Dean, is what I'm trying to say. And he's worried sick about you. He wants you to get better so you can nag the hell out of him again."

Bobby cracked a smile.

Sam didn't.

"All you need to know is that we're pulling for you, kid. We're on your side and we're not mad at you. For _anything_."

Sam's eyes wander, looking over at the door. Then they snail back over to Bobby. Still he doesn't say a word.

Bobby sighed. He didn't know what else he could say. So he stands . Reaching out, he pats Sam's shoulder.

"You know your brother loves you, right?"

Sam broke eye contact, looking down.

Bobby winced.

He shrugged his shoulders and headed for the door, unsure of Sam even heard a word he had said.

Just as the door shut, a small tear fell from Sam's eye. He'd heard every word.

**.- Insane-.**

Three hours later, Dean had went downstairs to where Sam was.

He didn't go in.

He couldn't bring himself to, but he did lift up the slide on the door that allowed him to see inside.

Looking though, he seen Sam lying on the bed. His head was down and his breathing was even.

Dean sighed.

He let the slip fall shut.

He hoped that Sam was at peace, because it would kill Dean to hear that he was still in pain even when he slept.

* * *

_Well, I hoped you liked it. _

_If you did, please review, I'd love to hear what you think. _

_Even if you didn't enjoy it, tell me what you didn't like. Maybe I can fix it. _

_Feedback is always wanted [:_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4;_

Neither Bobby nor Dean had ever seen Sam this way, and it was killing them slowly. Bobby exited Sam's quarters in a zombie-like fashion. His hands were at his sides, swaying with his walking. His feet moved forward hastily; his eyes faced forward, but didn't seem to focus on anything. Sam truly left him dumbfounded. Sam truly left him concerned. Sam left him feeling helpless. In the back of Bobby's mind he knew that there was nothing he could really do for the youngest Winchester. If anyone, it was Dean. But there was an invisible wall between the two brothers right now that gave the house a tension-filled atmosphere. Bobby hated that. Whenever he was with the boys, he hoped to feel unified and unbreakable. But now, each one of them felt broken. Bobby wasn't sure if they had enough pieces to put themselves back together again.

Bobby was at a loss. Nothing that he and Dean did for Sam seemed to help. If they left him food, he won't eat. If they leave him water, he'll barely drink it. And now he won't talk? This was getting out of hand. What else could they do? They can't force feed him- well they could, but Bobby was sure Dean would be against that. And there's no way to make him talk.

Dean waited upstairs while Bobby tried to get arise out of Sam downstairs. Deep down, Dean knew whatever Bobby was trying wasn't going to work. But he hated to have a negative attitude toward Sam getting better; because he did want him to get better. He wanted Sam to get better more than anything in the world right now. But he had to be rational with himself. If Sam was ever going to start making progress, Dean and Bobby were going to start having more will power when it came to him. And believe that going against Sam was the hardest thing to do. He'd look at you with those eyes, _you know the eyes_, and then he'd say something that you can't disagree with. Then you're whole game plan is ruined, just like that.

Dean smiled slightly and sort of shrugged.

Sam's got they type of effect on people.

A few minutes later, Bobby heads up the stairs to find Dean in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table with one hand covering his mouth, while he looked deep in thought. His eyes were fixed on the table in front of him. Bobby cleared his throat, getting his attention. When Dean finally ripped his eyes from the tabletop and onto Bobby's upset and disappointed ones, he sighed a little. Something was wrong. Is it even possible for things to get even worse than they are right now? Dean braced himself for what he was about to hear and prayed that it wasn't too bad.

"What's the verdict?" he asks softly with a lift of his hand. Bobby shakes his head and takes a seat at the table across from him. He, too, rests his hands on the table.

Bobby shrugs. "I don's know what's up with him?"

"What happened?" Dean asks, getting more and more curious.

"I don't know. He's not saying anything. Not anything at all."

Dean felt his eye brows raise then drop quickly.

"So when you went down there, what was he doing?"

Bobby looked away briefly and again shrugged his shoulders. "I opened the door and he didn't even look to see who was coming in. I put the food on the table, but it was pretty much useless. He's not eating either," Bobby informed. Dean rolled his eyes, but let Bobby continue. "So then I went and sat on the side of the bed. he was in the middle of it, wrapped up like a little kid with his head down. I called his name, you know, tried to get his attention, but it didn't do anything. But I was pretty sure he could hear me, though. I mean, why wouldn't he? So I talked to him. Let him know that we want him to get better and we'll do anything we have to to make sure he does. And I told him that you love him and you'll be down to see him when you're ready."

Dean looked away. Now he felt badly. It isn't that he hasn't been down to see Sam, of course he has. But suddenly everything that he's done had gone out the window. Suddenly everything he'd done for Sam wasn't significant enough. Suddenly Dean was irrelevant. He was nothing, especially when Sam getting better was the subject. Dean felt helpless. And all of this emotion was triggered by simply hearing that Sam wasn't talking. Dean sighed. He had to do something. He had to. Something. Anything. Dean jumped up from the table and began to pace a little. With each move, he felt Bobby's eyes following him curiously, probably wondering what suddenly got into him. Dean made eye contact with Bobby and he seen the wonder in his eyes.

Without a word, Dean brushed past Bobby and down to where Sam was. If anyone could get through to Sam, it was Dean. He had to be.

**_-*Insane*-_**

His head hurt. Pounding in synchronization with his rapid heartbeat. He took in a deep breath, expanding his enclosed chest as much as it would go. It felt good, actually. It felt good to take in a breath of clean fresh air. His eyes remained closed. He feared that if he opened them and took a look around the room, they'd begin to burn. Last time, the light was so powerful in the low lit room that his eyes began to water, making tear trails down the sides of his face like a painting. He closed them slowly, wiping his eyeballs clean of the burning sensation. He remembered the relief he felt once his eyes were closed. It was like he was in a completely different world. A world that had peace. A world that allowed his body to relax and rest for a while. And up until now, he was pretty well rested. But now, his head splitting headache was back, just like he knew it would.

He unfastened his arms from around his legs and pressed his index and middle fingers to his temples and rubbed. It didn't help. He knew it wouldn't. But someway, it soothed him.

Minutes passed and he was able to hear the heavy door being pushed open. There was light footsteps coming toward him. Sam didn't even bother to look. It was Dean, he could feel it.

"What's this I hear about you not talking? " Dean's voice broke through the silence Sam's ears had become accustom to. The noise hurt his eardrums. He winced a little, but didn't dare to pick his head up. A second later he felt a weight, a presence on the side of him. Dean was sitting on the side of the bed almost directly where Bobby had been earlier. Sam let his hands slowly fall down from his head and he sighed on the inside. He didn't want to make this harder on Dean than it already is, but something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong with Sam and he wasn't sure how to say it. Lately, Sam found it best that he keep quiet.

Sam felt a hand touch his naked back. He flinched a little and Dean froze for a second.

"Sam, you've got to say something..."

Silence.

Dean silence.

Dean took hold of Sam's upper arm and pulled it a little. Not hard enough to hurt him, but certainly enough to get his attention. Dean expected Sam's head to pop up and for him to pull his hand away, but Sam just sat there like he didn't feel it at all. Dean sat there for a moment, almost dumbfounded, but he quickly moved on to a more gentler approach.

"Sammy," he says in a calm voice. "You've gotta snap out of whatever the hell you're in, okay? What you're going through right now is the closest you'll ever get to hell, I know, but you can't just give up like this. You can't. I won't allow it."

Dean studied Sam's still form, waiting and hoping for him to react in someway. But he didn't. Sam's bowed head and unsteady breathing was Dean's only reply.

Again, Dean pulled on Sam's arm.

"C'mon Sam, you've gotta say something," Dean pointed to the uneaten food to the left of them. "Look at this! You're not eating you're barely drinking and now you're not talking?" Dean shook his head. "We're not kids anymore, Sammy. The silent treatment isn't gonna work as good as it used to."

Still, despite Dean's words, Sam stayed silent.

Dean sighed.

Seconds later, he was retracting his words.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean says softly. "It's just- - I'm chasing my own tail here. It's like nothing I do is enough. I'm running out of things to do to help you. Isn't that sad? I don't even know how to help you anymore. Do you know how much that hurts for me to say?"

Dean rubbed his hand across his forehead.

He waited for Sam to respond.

He waited for Sam to say something, anything.

And almost to his surprise, Sam's head lifted and he looked over at Dean. His eyes were glassy and soft. He looked sad. Then in the softest voice you've ever heard he said "I'm sorry."

Sam's stood. His tall body slaying a little with uneasiness. Dean watched him carefully but didn't bother to stop him. Sam traveled as briskly as he could on to the furthest side of the room from Dean and took a seat, destroying all connection they've had. Dean sighed, but he understood.

The fact was: Sam just wanted to be left alone, but Dean wasn't sure how long he could grant him that wish.

**_*-Insane-*_**

Dean walked back upstairs, feeling defeated.

"Any luck?" Bobby asked, pouring himself a glass of water.

Dean shook his head but didn't answer.

Bobby put the glass down and walked over to Dean.

"Hey," he says softly. "You okay?"

Again, Dean shook his head and wiped his eye.

"I will be when Sam's gets better..."

* * *

_A few announcements : As you've probably noticed, I've had a name change. I was 'VFCGurl' now I am 'Devil917'. Yeah, I know it was sudden and unannounced, but it wasn't my choice. I had to change it. But it's all said and done so it doesn't matter, right? Right? Right._

_Next, I feel like this chapter is shit. Like, I don't know. But maybe it's okay and I'm just being a loser? Either way, please tell me what you think. I'd really appreciate it. I know you hear this every story you read, but reviews really do keep me motivated [:_

_Thanks for reviewing. Hope to see you here again next chapter. _


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